


Cyclical

by smolder



Series: Nostalgia [16]
Category: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (2001)
Genre: Atlantis/Vampire Culture Mash Up, Community: disney_kink, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolder/pseuds/smolder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“She died so that you may live,” he said to her as soon as the door closed. His bluntness made her heart stop beating for a moment, seemed to make time stop – because she didn’t want to think about it. Had been trying to run from it. She so desperately didn’t want this man saying these things. Making it all real. Making her again see in her minds eye her Mother splayed out upon the bed, white hair like a cloud on the dark pillow. Her Father sitting at the bedside, their hands intertwined even after Mother's delicate one had gone slack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Give and Take

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afterandalasia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis is owned by Disney.  
> Prompt: _Vampire!Kida (probably more like a few hundred years than thousands, but if you can find some way to make it work then go for it) is part of a community or group of vampires who are terribly and desperately secretive. They consider her important in some way, and therefore shelter her even more from the outside world. Milo is an academic obsessed with vampires. And... somehow their paths collide. The prompt gets vague around there._
> 
> _I don't care if you set it as an AU elsewhere in time, either. (And Queen of the Damned references certainly wouldn't go amiss.) Just... vampire!Kida/Milo, please?_

Give and take.

Give and take – it has been such a through line of her life, such a repeated thing, that after centuries now, little habits have unconsciously crept up on her. And it is almost a blessing, that every time something bad happens Kida relaxes a bit knowing good will soon follow. It is less pleasant, that she will tense when times are joyous – expecting trouble right around the next corner.  
  
But give and take - it has always been thus, an unbreakable cycle.  
  
Kida learned this truth young.  
  
****  
  
She fled from the familiar room with eyes filled with tears, not wanting to believe what just happened could possibly be true. She ran blindly, full tilt through the maze of underground tunnels that made up her home – familiarity and the balance common to her kind, somehow keeping her on her feet even as she ran faster, father from….  
  
She choked on as sob and finally tripped falling against something – _someone_. Looking up Kida recognized, even though the blur of her tears, the Headcouncilman. She started to simply murmur an apology and continue her escape but he grabbed her harshly and pulled her into one of the many rooms along the hall – and..and..she just stumbled along under his heavy hand. In this moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care, to pull away from him or even ask what he wanted.  
  
“She died so that you may live,” he said to her as soon as the door closed. His bluntness made her heart stop beating for a moment, seemed to make time stop – because she didn’t want to think about it. Had been trying to run from it. She so desperately didn’t want this man saying these things. Making it all real. Making her again see in her minds eye her Mother splayed out upon the bed, white hair like a cloud on the dark pillow. Her Father sitting at the bedside, their hands intertwined even after Mother's delicate one had gone slack.  
  
(And what was this too – _was she the cause of Mama’s death?_ )   
  
“Stop this crying – this childish whimpering. Do you think so little of her Gift to you?” his grip on her arm was tight but she didn’t feel it – would probably leave bruises until she fed again. But Kida just stood there staring at him, blue eyes wide with tears streaming down. Too blindsided by this idea, this new knowledge on top of her fresh pain to even think of trying to pull away.  
  
“It is you that needs to stop, Kavilus,” the voice of her father intoned from the doorway – a note of anger - of clear warning - she never remembered hearing before, laced throughout his normally calm tone. And everything else just seems to drop away for her in that moment she turned and saw him - because he is there, _right there_ , standing strong and solemn….and alive. And Kida has never felt such a startling, crystalline, gratitude towards the goddessess than she did in that moment. Because at least her father was still here, at least she still had him to cling to.   
  
But the Head of the Council was not idle as her mind snapped back and forth and she simply stared at her living parent ( _and even that was such an odd and new concept to grapple with, for she had grown up, so very sheltered, in a community where people simply didn’t die. Where they were supposed to be different from those humans – whose lifespans where so short it was hard for most to relate to them_ ), while his fingers dug into her arm.   
  
“We cannot coddle her – she is our Queen now,” he hissed, almost shaking her but Kida remained practically limp which seemed to frustrate him and he finally dropped her. Without his rough support, she simply fell into a pile as if her strings had been cut. “She is the center,” he yelled at her father, not noticing. “If our leader is weak, so are we all. And least you forget our past, _human_ ,” the term was spat at the other man, like it was a terrible word, “the fall of the Atlantis enclave will trigger the fall of the others. Our kind cannot live through that again.”   
  
Instead of coming back harsh, Father simply said quietly, “Look at her.” And after a tense moment he did.   
  
Kida does not know what it was about her in that moment. Half curled up, half just lying there, her eyes still continually leaking tears - eyes that area the exact same color as her Mother’s were – but it seemed to sap the energy out of the Councilman’s previous fervor, his shoulders visibly sagging.   
  
“The Ceremony is tomorrow. She will be strong then,” her father continues quietly as he now enters the room and walks towards her. “But for now Kida is just a little girl. A little girl who lost her Mother moments ago - my wife, least you forget,” it is a gentle rebuke, but a reminder all the same, that perhaps the other man shouldn’t have taken such a tone with the, much loved, Royal Consort and Kavilus flinches slightly. “I shall comfort my child now. There is no need for a show of strength at this time – now is for mourning.” And with that he pulls her to him and they both lose track of the world for a bit, gaining as much relief as they can from shared grief and remembered joys of a tall stately woman with the strength to keep her people in balance but who never neglected her family, never left them in doubt of how much she loved them.   
  
Kida will always remember her Mother’s loud laugh and slow smile, the way she would climb in bed next to her at night and read fairytales.  
  
And she will never forget how her eyes had glowed the moment before she passed – how those eyes caught her identical blue orbs and she felt something. A spark – a fire – ignite in her as it died in her Mother.   
  
Because her Father might refer to her as a child (and she still felt it in almost every way) but Kida was now thirteen, a woman by many a culture's reckoning - by the Powers of the Queens it seemed anyway.  
  
She had been taught early, while learning her people's history, that since the beginning of the proud line of Queens there has only ever been one at a time. It had not occurred to her than to question why that was. ( _There was so many other things unique through her maternal line – simply the ability to bear a child of the kind with their Chosen human male – always only one, always a girl with dark skin, blue eyes and white hair, always a Queen._ ) Her young mind had simply absorbed the fact at the time. It was only now that she slowly realized that as soon as she came of age the Power inherent in their long line, the Power needed to keep the flow between all of their kind steady, started to break down within her Mother and jumped to the younger valid host.   
  
Jumped to her.  
  
She feels it – it is part of the reason why she ran. Even as her Father hugs her, as he strokes her hair and tears fall, she feels that glowing blue energy and tries to think of it as her Mother (her Grandmother, Great-grandmother, generations on and on) - and not as the thing that killed her.  
  
And what will kill her one day too.


	2. Chapter 1: Steady Strength

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis is owned by Disney.

  
Many many (many, many) years later....  
  
  
There was an uproar in the Council Chamber the day she officially made the pronouncement that Helga would be her bodyguard.  
  
She catches the eye of the woman in question, who is leaning against one of the intricately carved twin stone pillars on either side of the large doors, and gets a bored stare and laconically crossed arms in response. But then, Kida doesn't exactly expect her to be surprised - Helga had told her this is what they would do after all.   
  
Most had disapproved of her decision to even keep Helga here in Atlantis, thinking it far too close ( _some of the more extreme muttering about the sanity of allowing her to live_ ). They say, as the only remaining member of a fallen enclave she is unlucky, not to be trusted. But although Kida has not asked – and the other woman has definitely never volunteered the information – she just _knows_ that the story is much deeper than that. One thing Kida has learned in her many years of leadership (Queen of Atlantis, the Center, Head of All the Enclaves) is empathy. It is something she credits to her Father's influence more than anything else.   
  
The reports she got that day, years ago, of the way Helga was found, pinned down by fallen rock from the explosion – surrounded by the dead and mangled bodies of those who she once led had been awful. They had thought she had passed as well at first, she was so very still, so quiet, hands clenched around a large caliber rifle, just staring unwaveringly down a reinforced side hallway.  
  
( _They later followed in that direction and found Rourke (the only one not in the main room) his head blasted nearly clean off with one shot to the base of the skull._ )  
  
Even now, long after her legs have healed, her jaw will clench whenever his name is mentioned, the hurt she holds close and will probably always cling to stubbornly.   
  
Whispers of his betrayal of her - of their whole clan - follow Helga wherever she goes. _Shouldn’t she have known? Did she know? They were mated after all. Will she ruin us as well?_ But they always bite their lip and look down as soon as Helga turns and raises that sharp blonde eyebrow at them. It is something Kida secretly envies – her quiet, almost regal, strength.   
  
Kida still feels she is cultivating it, that since most saw her grow up they still view her as a child even though she is nearing her third century. ( _She has read the diaries of her forerunners, knows that because of their unique nature, all Queens go through this process. And that while none will ever doubt her as their leader, it is only time, patience, and steady strength that will change the picture from little girl to woman when they look upon her._ )  
  
And more than the initial empathy for one who has lost everything in a moment, she has come to value Helga for herself. Kida can count on one hand those who treat her as an equal - who neither bow and scrape or talk down to her. She holds her Father and those few friends dear to her.   
  
But Helga was different. From the beginning when she had been brought here, Helga treated her like she wasn't a Queen, like she was simply someone she met - someone yet to impress or disappoint her. Perhaps it was because she had nothing left to lose anymore, or this was simply how Helga had always been, but it was a type of clean slate Kida had never been afforded before, something wholly new and refreshing.

While (and after) she had healed, Kida saw how she relentlessly conditioned her body, how she trained - even thought that was largely seen as unnecessary for their kind.   
  
It was what had given her the idea.  
  
The members of the Council feared letting her walk amongst the outside world, amongst _humans_. Every time she brought up going out alone, their voices would get shrill - warning of dangers, of what would happen if she was harmed. ( _The oldest whispered about the days of Hunters._ )   
  
Kida understood their concerns, understood why she needed to be protected, but she also knew that unless she put her foot down soon she would end up caged underground for the rest of her days. It had already been a century and a half ago since she walked upon the surface - and then it had been with an entire entourage when she was taking her first visit to all of the enclaves she ruled.  
  
And that was something she refused - to be _trapped_. Her whole being fought against it.  
  
"Do you question my word?" she asked, and although Kida was not loud her anger must have infused Power into her voice because the room instantly quieted. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Helga smirk.  
  
Kida stood and splayed her hands on the table in supplication as she looked upon her slightly cowed Council members. "You have been concerned for my safety, should I travel up upon the surface. I have answered those concerns," she gestured to Helga who helpfully tilted her head and nodded when everyone turned to stare.  
  
She leveled her cool blue gaze all around. "Do you doubt my choice?"  
  
It was almost a challenge, a dare. And Kida was frankly surprised when time pulled taunt and then lengthened still....and no one answered. No one argued against her.   
  
She smiled widely then, with a suddenness that visibly startled a few and made her struggle not to laugh. "Than I shall see your Honorable Council men and women in a week. Sessions shall, of course, be suspended until Ms. Sinclair and I return."


	3. Chapter 2: Slipping Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis is owned by Disney.

  
  
She is giddy once she leaves the Council room – the smile never leaving her face, all the way through the twisting halls to her own chambers.  
  
But Kida, doesn’t even try to fight the feeling, the happiness and excitement bubbling within her, because she will be going _above ground_. There will be sun and moon, people and busy streets, air filled with strange smells both pleasant and fowl. She can go to museums, libraries, plays - or simply to parks and fields. (The thought of wide open spaces sends a thrill through her.) She craves difference most of all, her eyes long to see other views than the beautifully carved stone that surrounds her every day.  
  
She starts to hum as she packs - careful in what she brings, wanting to blend in. But it is not easy for Kida to walk amongst people and not stand out (she remembers that from the last trip, she even stands out starkly down _here_ ). Her dark skin, bright blue eyes, and white hair come to her from her Mother's side, are all trademarks of the long line of Atlantean Queens and she is proud to be a part of that heritage. But if she wishes to move about with any sort of anonymity, even to those with no knowledge of her kind, she must carefully wrap her hair in a scarf or cover it with a hat of some kind.   
  
There is a familiar knock on her door that makes her drop a lovely deep purple cotton wrap that she was folding. She calls a greeting, turning to smile at her Father when he enters. That smile almost falters though when she takes him in – because, well, her father is aging. It is something she has noticed lately in that startling way that hits hard and makes her wonder why the daily decline never really register.   
  
She knows what this means – what this clearly telegraphs to all around them – what her Father _must_ know. Her Consort is near, her chosen mate. Truly, it is probably the cause of her intense restlessness lately, her _need_ to get to the outside.   
  
But when they have bonded…( _she does not even wish to finish the thought within her own mind, winces away from the knowledge, has been avoiding it for so long_ )…her father will die.  
  
Give and take - it is her existence.   
  
Kida has a moment of wanting to grab her father and run, run far far away. Perhaps just hide out for a few decades (normal humans don’t live an awful long time, right?). But she is more than just a little girl now, she is a Queen, a leader and people depend on her. She does not have the luxury to run and hide, even if it could stave off the inevitable coming change for a while. And anyway, it is a greedy wish, not what her Father would want – he has candidly told her over the years that he welcomes the day he will join her Mother again.  
  
 _Give and take_ , the old mantra seems to breathe through her, making her shake, making her feel both strong and weak.  
  
And her Father has walked towards her, his hand lays gently on her shoulder - _so much more frail than she remembers_ – and he smiles at her. When he speaks though, his voice is as strong as ever and that, at least, is a comfort to her.  
  
“You reminded me of your Mother standing there today. I'm proud of you, Kida,” he says. It snaps her back to the present.  
  
“I was not to harsh with the Council than?” she frowns worriedly. “I do not wish to be seen as a dictator.”  
  
But he laughs at this. “Not at all, my daughter. They need to see that you are capable of making decisions - even it they don't agree with them. You are not a child and shouldn’t be treated as such. You are not only a Queen but your own woman now,” his smile turns bittersweet.  
  
“I love you, Father,” Kida blurts awkwardly and the hug she pulls him in lacks just as much grace but she feels rushed. Can almost see their time together slipping away, it makes her close her eyes and hold him tighter – bite her lip, so as not to cry, when she feels him stroke her hair.   
  
Because this is her _Father_ and how can anybody else she is “given” ever equate to a loss of him. ( _She would throw away her Power, her leadership, in an instant for her Mother’s life – that was not an equal trade, not by far_ ).   
  
But Kida also cannot be entirely cynical about the thought of her chosen (cannot stop the little fissure of excitement deep down even) because she remembers seeing how in love her parents were, how strong their bond was. Knows her Mother went through this very same loss to receive her mate, her family - that all Queens did. That it is the trade of to be as they are, to be able to wield the Power to keep peace among their people, for the ability to bear an heir to do the same.  
  
 _Give and take._  
  
It will perhaps not be an equal thing than, she thinks - never that. But she won’t be left with nothing in the end. She will still have family – a new one perhaps. But change is always inevitable if their line is to continue.  
  
Kida bites her lip harder and hugs her Father tighter.


	4. Chapter 3: Startling Bright Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis owned by Disney.

  
He winces at the conversation overheard on the other side of the stacks, tries to ignore it, brush it off as just teenaged girls, but his shoulders still stay tense until they walk to far away for him to hear.  
  
Milo lets out a breath of air then and shakes his head – he is being silly after all. But the intense popularity of “Twilight” feels like an almost personal affront to his academic senses. Especially given his particular field of interest.  
  
 _Vampires._  
  
His Mythologies Professor had always sighed and looked almost disappointed, with this continued singular obsession of his – clear through to when he turned in his very well researched Doctorate thesis. And although Milo had left Oxford years ago, age had yet to bring him the esteem he had hoped for - speeding through school so quickly, graduating so young, he had always thought part of the reason they scoffed was the age disparity. It seemed though, that actually the older he got the less people respected his interest in vampires as anything other than a silly juvenile pastime only fit to be played out on television and movie screens.  
  
Now people looked at it as if it must be a creepy (almost sexual) thing and that made Milo squirm because for him it most definitely wasn't.  
  
Because to him, vampires - the whole idea of them - had always been more than that – _so much more_ than the caricatures in books and on tv. They always had been since he was very young. Milo does not know why it was _vampires_ that he latched onto and not, say, _superheroes_ or something more appropriate for a little boy.  
  
Perhaps, back then, in a twisted way, it was hopeful: his parents were dead, killed in a car crash, and it made him feel just a bit better to lock himself away and read about these beings that would _never_ die.  
  
( _He used to have dreams about his Mom and Dad rising from their graves and it wasn’t a scary thing, he always ran to them gladly. And was bitterly disappointed to wake up again in a world where that would never happen, a world where they would stay in their coffins forever, a world that told him that vampires weren’t real._ )  
  
He always took things personally though. His thesis paper had been on the psychology of immortality, of living that long – possibly so many more lifespans than humans are used to. There was too much conflicting mythologies for Milo to be entirely sympathetic of vampires (some were they are painted as bloodthirsty animals that lived only to feed and destroy) but he _could_ hypothesize how it might be for someone like a human to live so very long, how it might be for _him_ to. And so that is how he had written it, pulling in historical depictions from various cultures that supported his views as well as those that opposed them.  
  
After college (which had included getting his Masters and Doctorate) Milo had not quite known what to do with his life. He knows he is intelligent - he graduated High School at eleven and got full scholarship to Oxford after all - but he has always felt such unease, such a need to wander. Mr. Whitmore ( _who he has called Grandad his entire life - the older man's relationship with Milo's Grandfather after Grandma died, had always been a rather open secret, even back when those sorts of things weren't exactly openly acknowledged completley outside of the family. And since the death of Thaddeus Thatch and both his parents, the older man was really the only person on Earth that Milo had that he considered family_.) had offered Milo a fully paid expedition wherever he wished. But the still inense and eccentric man, didn't seemed surprised when he had turned it down in favor of this aimless wandering - it seems it's in the Thatch blood to want to search, but to also have a need to do it their own way (at least that's what he is told).  
  
Lately though it feells more lonely than anything else, he has only staying in a town for a year or so, never putting down solid roots. He got an apartment here in Montana a month ago and, although he was way over qualified - and not necessarily in the right fields, the librarian had taken him on.  
  
He reaches blindly to pick up another book to re-shelve and is surprised when his fingers run into a warm hand instead of the familiar feeling of plastic covered bindings.  
  
Milo looks up and the most beautiful woman he has ever seen smiles at him. He blushes instantly, feeling intensely foolish, knowing he is going to do or say something stupid. He has never had any luck with pretty women near his own age, never seemed to do anything but blunder around them. And she is _far_ more than just pretty.  
  
Her eyes are a startling bright blue that offsets her dark skin – a lock of white, not blonde, but _white_ hair has escaped the purple embroidered scarf that the rest is tucked under and matches her plain sundress. The fingers of his other hand actually twitch with the urge to reach up and gently push that fallen lock of hair behind her ear.  
  
He lets out a whoosh of breath, only then realizing that he had been holding it and feels embarrassment shoot through him acutely. Milo would blush again if he had ever stopped in the first place ( _it feels almost like a sunburn on his face_ ). But the woman just laughs and somehow it’s not a mocking sound, but laced with real joy.  
  
He smiles tentatively at her, reaching out his hand to shake. “Hello,” he says, still lowly – they are in a library after all, “I’m Milo Thatch.”  
  
Her hand slides into his and he can almost swear he feels a wave of energy roll through him, leaving him short of breath but energized. “Hello, Milo Thatch,” she responds ( _are her eyes faintly glowing?_ ). “I am Kida. And I feel we shall be getting to know each other _very well_.”  
  
That should be an odd statement – should make him uneasy since they have only just met. But instead it feels like _truth_ , it feels like an end to his search. Because although Milo has often wished he could be scientific in nature, see things coldly and precisely, it simply isn’t his way. He is a romantic through and through, believes in fate, and happenstance. He is the type that holds back until the last minute than jumps in with both feet. And looking at her open, sure, face - with that single lock of hair falling forward - there has never been anyone Milo has wanted to get to know more.  
  
So, he decided to be brave. “I get off work at four. Would you-," he clears his throat, nervously, "would you like to get some coffee?”  
  
“Yes, Milo Thatch,” she says reaching up to lay a hand on his arm (their other hands are still clasped and he feels almost dizzy from the contact and then bereft when she lets go). “I shall be at the chair, near the windows, reading,” she reached into the trolley grabbing the book they were both reaching for originally when their hands brushed, “this.” Her grin is infectious when she shows him the cover of the rather large collection of fairy tales by Hans Christian Anderson and he finds himself grinning in return.  
  
He watches her go, until her path brings another woman into his eye line who raises an unimpressed blonde eyebrow at him that instantly makes his eyes dart away quickly. Milo, rubs the arm she touched one last time, before getting back to work (it _tingled_ – but that was probably just his imagination). There was still two hours until his shift was over, two hours until Kida, until….  
  
He shakes his head, unable to tamp down his smile, and grabs another book.


	5. Chapter 4: All that it Entails

“There’s some mess,” he babbles, eyes glancing up at her again through the fringe of that dark blonde hair, over the edge of those large round glasses, as he fumbles with the lock on his apartment door, “I don’t have enough book cases so some are just in piles and-“

 

“Milo, I’m sure it is fine,” she assures him, lying a comforting hand on his arm that almost seems to make him more nervous, if the dropped keys are any indication. Kida just shakes her head and smiles gently to herself and follows the sweeping gesture of his arm when he does finally get the door open, without any hesitance.

 

And she doesn’t have any – Kida feels extraordinarily relaxed in his presence, and that is because she knows how very safe she is - and that is only partially due to how very kind Milo seems, how gentle. A large part of her her ease in entering his cramped apartment is that a single scream will bring a certain blonde bursting into the room (and that lock that gave Milo such trouble would give her little resistance).  Because the others of the Council might consider her foolhardy, or simply looking for adventure, but Kida knows her value – both as a singular being ( _as Kida_ ) and as a leader.

 

 Her safety is a necessary thing, but so is her freedom - with Helga as her bodyguard both are able to be exercised. Helga, who will fully trust no one anymore, keeps everyone at a careful arm’s length. Helga, who has had little care for their destinations (getting irritated when she badgered her for input) and is instead content to drive Kida as she stares with wonder out the window at the passing world (sighs, rolled eyes, and the occasional quip her only usual response to Kida’s running commentary). But oddly patient  _(sisterly, the uncommon word had come to Kida as she glanced sideways at the sharp profile staring straight ahead. Her own head leaning against cool glass of the window as she savored the unusual feeling of the car speeding along underneath her_ ) in going down whatever road Kida has wished, wildly pointing fingers and changing whims causing them to zigag around from destination to destination with no real rhyme or reason.

 

Who, the whole time Kida read her book of fairytales ( _falling back into the comfortable, simple, worlds her Mother used to weave, hearing them in that, never forgotten, voice_ ), watched Milo putter about with careful eyes, because she saw their interaction, is aware, without being told, of what it means, but also knows that being bonded to someone ( _even being in love – because Kida does not think Helga would hold her hurt, so very closely, if she had not been in love, if the betrayal had not cut deeply_ ) does not guarantee that they will not harm you.

 

It simply means they have the power to harm you more.

 

She hears the door click behind her. "I'll get us something to drink," Milo says, setting down his khacki messenger bag - all of his movements sharp and nervous.

 

"Certainly," she responds and tries to appear reassuring, to calm him. But it seems to do little good as he trips over his own feet on the way to, what she assumes is his home's - his apartment - that was what he called it's kitchen.

 

She let's out a breath when he leaves and sends a silent prayer to the goddesses. Because it is not only Helga that has been studying Milo with a wary eye, Kida is very aware of how bad this can go. Her Mother had been lucky, not all of the diaries of various former Queens she has read form into happy family stories after all. Some are cautionary tales and it is not even the lack of “ever after” on the end of the last sentence - that shall never happen after all, there is no end to their line, no chance for a pretty bow to tie up the tale for any individual. Only an endless cycle of death and renewal, their Power passing from one Queen to the next, mother to daughter.

 

There is a reason only those of her line are allowed to read from these books - they are deeply personal, diaries in every sense. Kida has found herself curled up in bed, many a night in the past, biting her lip, as she takes in the stories of a Great grand-mother's life. Long stretches of sadness, of longing – of having to put up a brave, strong front for the people while marital strife brews in the background. Because some human men come to resent being pulled away from their world, being bound to a strange woman – a strange _creature_ (for to the upper world, it is _they_ who are not normal) - in a society where they will always have lesser power, where they are both physically weaker _and_ of an impossibly lesser status than their wives (who lead in life and rise to being seen as nearly deity in death).  Some of the husbands have even gone slowly crazy, stuck between both worlds – unable to accept the Queen’s gift to them, the ability to prolong their life while keeping their humanity.

 

So Kida has no fear for her physical safety, any worry deep within her is for Milo. She has been trying to gauge all evening, through coffee and - once the building grew crowded and loud - a timid offer to talk at this place instead ( _with quick hasty babling assurances that it was only to talk - and of course she would say no and that was alright - of course it was alright. He had only offered because his apartment was close and...there had been such utter surprise when she easily said yes_ ) the type of man he is, if he will be able to accept her, accept her people.

 

If he was the sort that could be _happy_ in a life with her – and all that it entails. For Kida would not wish to trap him into their bond. Before this break for the surface with Helga, the Council had been closing in on her over the years. Their restrictions starting to tighten, little by little, until she had begun to feel claustrophobic surrounded by the same rock every day, walking the same hallways, seeing the same grand carvings and intricate mosaics. The beauty of Atlantis, of her home enclave, was irrelevant: everywhere she looked it was all the _same_ until things just blended together, pressed upon her eyes, her brain, pinning her in until it felt as if it would encase her, and then she would turn to stone as well.

 

Kida _would not_ become such a jailer herself.

 

She hears a plaintive meow and smiling Kida kneels to pet a lovely white cat, and in doing so catches a glimpse of the titles of the books stacked in the nearest pile.

 

They make her breathe in a quick surprised inhalation, when she sees them, and bring up another large wrinkle she had never expected. Because these books in his house – the stacks of seemingly serious volumes on her kind – she knows them, knows what they say. They were taught to her when she was young, delivered to her dutifully when she was older - it was necessary to keep up to date on how they were percieved. But it is all so wrong, so very wrong. 

 

Kida does not know how it all got so warped in the telling, why the perception of today (for very many years now) was so odd. Perhaps, some vampirian _(and that word was not used by her kind anymore, it was… crude, brought up images of times of great savagery when they were all much more brutal. When wars amongst the enclaves were common_ ) text was found by an enterprising human but then translated badly. Or maybe she is being too kind and from the very beginning, the purpose was always for fact to be twisted. For slander to become the common knowledge.

 

Well, common as fairy tale that is – nightmarish as their caricatures were, most humans did not actually _believe_ in their existence - she wondered if Milo did.

 

She hears the scuff of that boot again and, looking up, sees him reenter the room with two mugs of tea. His smile is tentative and drops immediately when he sees the pile of books she has noticed.

 

But she simply pets his purring cat again and smiles, tries to project confidence as she lays her other hand upon the top of the stack of incorrect texts and says, “We have much to talk about, Milo Thatch.”


	6. Chapter 5: Giving Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis owned by Disney.

“I’m sorry,” the apology trips automatically from his lips – almost a nervous tic.

 

She stands slowly, her hand falling away from Fluffy, and his cat gives a ‘ _mrow_ ’ of discontent at this stop in attention on her person, and begins winding around Kida’s legs hopefully.

 

Milo knows the feeling _(not the winding around her legs – and he blushes hotly instantly at his tercherarous brain_ ) but of wanting her attention - her approval - so very desperately.

 

“Sorry for what?” she asks, head tilted inquisitively, it makes her purple scarf, that had already become lose, slide a bit more – absentmindedly she grabs it with her right hand and with a small tug it unwinds the rest of the way from her hair.

 

And Milo loses track of his brain again, forgets even to breath. Because God, she's beautiful – and so very different from any other woman he has ever seen that he almost can’t believe she is standing in his apartment, is talking to him, is saying…

 

“Milo? Milo Thatch, are you alright?” her hand is on his arm and he jerks back in surprise. It is only the fact that she is so close (had moved while he had zoned out, apparently) that saves their tea. And when her fingers intermingle around his on their mugs it is hard not to stare again - but she is looking right back at him this time and that makes it better (and a bit worse, too).

 

With a small smile, Kida breaks the moment simply saying, "Let us sit," and pressing one of the warm beverages towards him while taking the other for herself.

 

But she picks the question back up again once she is on his ratty sofa of indeterminate color and he has taken the apartment's only chair. “Why did you apologize?”  Her sandals have been abandoned on the floor as soon as she sat down and her feet have curled under her automatically, the mug of camomile balances easily on her knee.

 

He is struck by her ability to look so at ease in his space and it takes him much to long (yet again– and how stupid he must be seeming to her) to answer. He almost doesn’t want to - but Milo has always had a hard time lying (even when it is to his detriment) and the desire to be honest to this person he only met hours ago is very strong.

 

“The books – on vampires,” he notices her slight wince and looks down, expecting the worse then. Rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding his own mug, he lets out a sigh. “I – well – they’ve been my subject of study all through school,” he waves his hand vaguely here, seeing no reason to go into his various degrees, it’s really not important. “And I know it bothers some people. For valid reasons,” he hastens to add, sitting up straight hastily, and looking her in the eye – because Milo remembers the people in school who had gotten creped out by the oddly clinical listings and cross listing of ways creatures might be killed according to different customs. The ones who would wince away at depictions of vampires as anything other than the lovesick type. But also people who became uneasy for reasons that, while he didn’t understand them, Milo respected them – those were religious usually or sometimes simply cultures that still had the strongest ties to folklore that dealt strongly with death. “That’s why I apologized,” he finishes sheepishly.

 

“I think, perhaps, you worry for the wrong reasons then,” Kida said confusing him and at the look on his face she smiled and continued. “You see, I have no problem with the subject of your study. I simply have always found myself contesting the…practical validity of the way they are portrayed. All, hypothetically speaking, of course,” she added with a grin, punctuating her remark with a jaunty sip.

 

“Of course,” he agrees, eyes wide, nodding, an odd hope filling him, that he isn’t being dismissed outright for this – that she is not only humoring but actually engaging him on the topic that has mattered so much to him over the years. But then he sits back in his chair – his mug’s balance becoming precarious with all of this moving around - and a small frown forms on his face.

 

“I have to admit, Kida, I’m not entirely sure I know what you mean,” and with this academic topic, he is so familiar with, in sights his body relaxes – which only serves to make his tea tip over. Fumbling, Milo manages to saves it from spilling (more than just a little bit, anyway).

 

He is extremely grateful that Kida graciously ignores all this. She picks at the strands of a cat-hair covered pillow, while he tries to dab at his shirt, and pretends to just take the time to collect her thoughts. And when she starts talking it is easy to believe she _was_ because her words are said in a slow, deliberate way – as if she is being _careful_ , parsing them out.

 

“It is simply that I have never seen how _vampires_ ,…” she trips a bit over the word and Milo wonders if it’s because she simply isn’t the sort of person who would usually talk about the "supernatural" in everyday conversation or of English wasn’t her first language. She had very little accent but he had wondered a few times in their conversation earlier about the peculiarity of her word choices, of how she simply seemed unfamiliar with certain things he considered basic. “..could be real, and ever hope to stay hidden within a greater society, if it they actually _bit_ people – if it was blood that they needed to sustain them.” 

 

“If not blood than what?” Milo asked, leaning his head against his hand as he watched her, perfectly happy to play out this discussion.

 

“Well, humans do not simply eat and eat and eat,” she continued in a logical tone, her free hand moving in a rotation with each consecutive repetition, “they must,” here she fumbled, gesturing to the open air sharply as she searched for an appropriate phrase, _“expel waste_ in order to create more room within their own bodies. Why should vampires diverge so far once they change? What good would _more blood_ do a body?” she asked rhetorically, her nose scrunched up in disdain at the thought.

 

Milo felt himself smiling at how animated she had become. “But if not blood than what?” he asked again.

 

  _“Energy_ ,” she replied promptly, grinning at his expression. “And so it must be energy that they expel.”

 

“Energy?” Milo said, thoroughly baffled and he quickly tried to school his features, to make them seem serious and not just gob smacked by what seemed a thoroughly bizarre U-turn. “Well, it’s a theory,” he said diplomatically, taking a large gulp of his tea afterwards.

 

Kida set her mug upon the floor (he had no coffee table) and uncurled from the sofa, she stood and walked over to his window where upon the sill sat his very sad looking plant (he always bought them when he got a new apartment but could never remember to water it the morning before work). She stood there for a moment and he watched her profile, feeling tense, afraid he had somehow offended her despite his attempts at being tactful.

 

He had just sat his own mug upon the floor and was getting up - about to walk over and apologize when she spoke and something about her tone stopped him cold, made him sit back down.

 

“ _Milo_ – it is not only a theory,” she whispered, and it carried in his small apartment as if she had spoken it in his ear ( _every time she said his name it felt like that, so oddly intimate_ ). And before he could make any response, she reached out and touched the drooping fern – and…and it was revitalized. Starting down near the root, and exploding outwards in sudden color – brittle brown giving way to green, as one by one the long strands seemed to suddenly practically vibrate with life.

 

Milo clutched, the arms of his chair, staring, wondering if he was vibrating too. If it really mattered because….well, _wow_.

 

“It will need water,” Kida said and he looked up in time to see a faint glow fading from her eyes (And the feeling of ‘wow’ definitely wasn’t leaving him anytime soon). Eyes that were back to being the vibrant blue he remembers and now were watching him warily for his response.

 

“Yeah,” Milo said softly, “I’ll remember.”


	7. Chapter 6: Eyes Widen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything - Atlantis belongs to Disney.

“Umm, right,” Milo clears his throat awkwardly, hands clench and release around the cushions of his chair making them creak. “So, energy?” he asks, pushing up his glasses and looking at her in that same curious and hopeful way – and she can tell there are probably a million and one other questions milling around in that mind of his but he is trying so very hard to act casually – like this hasn’t changed things, like she isn’t suddenly something different in his eyes.

 

 And that makes her relax a bit, even if it is forced, the very effort – the fact that he is trying so hard - soothes her.  Because there isn’t fear or disbelief anywhere in his expression. Her minor expelling of excess Power from sitting under the sun all day has given Milo proof. It actually makes part of Kida wonder why he is so quick to accept this ( _her_ ). But, then again, she still has much to tell.

 

And Kida thinks his initial question also partially stems from the little fact that he is probably having trouble reconciling how very different the way she has explained is from everything in those books of his. She walks slowly back to her seat, giving him at least a bit more time for the sudden collision of simply talking of a hypothetical and it actually being reality to reconcile. She sits down on the sofa and picks up her now empty mug of tea, just to give herself something to do with her hands.

 

“Energy – do you mean like electricity?” Milo prompts further, apparently having become impatient with her lack of answer.  

 

Kida does laugh at this, a blurt of sound that echoes in her empty mug. She shakes her head and sets it down on the floor again.

 

“Some do,” she says, when she has calmed, Kida did not wish to insult the poor man by giggling after all. “But it is considered a less…” she searched for the right word, “ _refined_ way of going about it.” Kida grins widely, looking him in the eyes past those thick frames and he smiled back – it was a rather nice smile, she thought. “I laughed a moment ago because I pictured two of my good friends who are fond of ‘ _charging’_ during thunderstorms. It is volatile but I think that is the actual attraction for Audrey and Vinny – they are an odd pair,” Kida trails off a bit with a sigh, and he quickly catches onto her tone.

 

“Are you alright?” Milo asks leaning forward, immediately after he physically retreated again, bitting his lip. “I’m sorry you don’t have to answer that. I shouldn’t have asked and-“

 

“No, no,” she calmed the flow of words. “It is fine. I simply miss them. Their home enclave is far from mine and I have not seen them in years. When you get to be my age you _know_ many people but few are _friends_. They are friends.”

 

Kida frowns deeply after that. It is not until she is saying this, forming the words out loud to someone else, that she realizes how many of the friends she made on that first trip as Queen (when she was officially greeting all the enclaves she ruled) that she has seen little since. She had never been pulled toward those of the more diplomatic mind and it saddened her now because that meant that she rarely saw her friends in Atlantis, which was mostly populated by the Council and other circulating members of governance. (Kida had been surprised, back then, to find out that Audrey and Vinny had only been in attendance at their _own_ enclave because of the special occasion of her arrival).  And it is but memories of them that she has held close and on repeat in her mind. Kida would know if they had died but there is much that still could have happened in the time that has passed, much that she now realizes she dearly wishes to know.

 

“And so you just absorb energy from the world? Doesn’t it need it?”  Milo’s question breaks Kida out of her reflection and brings her back to the present discussion. He is twisting his hands, obviously floundering trying to puzzle this trough into something logical in his mind. A man of learning yes –but not necessarily of science.

 

But his words make her feel cold, make her expression turn blank. “You think us parasites?” she asks, trying to keep her anger tamped down.

 

But either she is not very successful or this Milo is very good at reading her – his eyes have widened behind his glasses in surprise at this abrupt change in mood and his twisting hands tighten together in worry.

 

“I just don’t know,” he admits. He looks over at his piles of books and his expression turns sheepish, “I don’t really know _anything_ about you. And everything I’ve researched seems to be wrong.”

 

The stark honesty cools her anger as if someone has thrown water upon it. Kida just takes a moment to watch him, to take in the way he looks upon his books as if they are old friends that have - somehow, impossibly, let him down with their lack of accuracy. It almost makes her begin to grin.

 

“Give and take,” she says gently and Milo glances back at her, startled. “Our lives, our entire existence, is a cycle. Give and take.”

 

He is watching her with such rapt attention now that for a second she feels as if she will blush. And Kida is surprised at this response within herself for she has never been shy. And so it is easy to push past the odd momentary embarrassment and instead enjoy the feeling of his eyes upon her. Almost always the youngest in a room, she has never really played the role of teacher before. She feels a slight thrill at the thought she will get to teach him almost _everything_ about her kind. (And perhaps he can teach her about the surface world – she would certainly not mind watching him closely as he spoke in that excited, gesturing way as he did earlier.)

 

“As I said, we do take of the Earth’s energies,” she continues, “but that is only possible if we give of ourselves,” she gestures to the fern from earlier.

 

“In every single being of my kind there is Power – it is what makes us different from humans. We can heal almost everything: the plant life, animals,” she paused for a moment, knowing it will be meaningful,  “ _humans_.”

 

And he does suck in a breath at this but Kida plows on before Milo can say anything.

 

“I shall give you a few examples,” she says quickly and his open mouth closes with a snap. “I spoke of my friend Audrey earlier – unlike most of my kind, she lives above ground. That is because she takes great joy in your technology, particularly automobiles. She has a shop where she restores vehicles,” Milo’s forehead has scrunched up, clearly not knowing where she was going with this. Kida decided to simply spring it on him. “She heals the cars.” Kida can’t help but laugh loudly at his dumfounded expression then. “Not in the sense you are thinking – it is really only the rust that she is able to transform back into its original metal – to heal it. The rest is simply knowledge, skill, and hard work. But, for that part, the energy she takes in to feed is kept in balance by the energy she expels doing so. She would not be able to _feed_ if she were not sustaining the world in some way.”

 

“But that isn’t really _sustaining_ the world. It’s just fixing things,” he protested.

 

“I’m sure the people who drive those cars would not say that,” she teased him but gives in after a moment. Kida _did_ truly want him to get this after all.

 

“Perhaps a more direct example, I did admit earlier that Audrey and her mate were considered rather strange,” she grinned, thinking of Vinny - they would get quite tangled if she tried to explain his prefered uses of Power. “Another friend of mine has always felt more connected with humans  and felt he would do the most good helping them - _you_ ,” she nodded, towards him in apology (not wishing to offend with a careless word). “Sweet, is a surgeon – has been for _many_ years - and uses his Power to aide his patient’s healing.”

 

This seemed to be more understandable and Milo simply mulled over what she had told him for a few moments. “How do you usually use it?” he finally asked.

 

“Healing, as well - of my own kind, mostly. Or simply to keep the flow of the energies between the enclaves in balance,” Milo began to ask about this but her smile suddenly grew soft, her eyes distant – and the expression on her face made him pause. “It has been so lovely these past few days to use it for other means,” she continued, her voice almost a sight of contentment. "To be able to walk barefoot in the sunlight, absorbing its energies slowly, and expelling healing into the ground. To see dying grass come back, green and full before my eyes.”

 

“Wow,” Milo murmured, and when she refocused on him he was blushing and looking down.

 

She just watched him for a moment, wanting this moment for herself before she had to continue. Before she told him more - but eventually she had to say it.

 

 “I am different from my kind. A Queen I am called,” he looked back up quickly his eyes wide and Kida wished they weren’t. She had been enjoying the fact he had started to relax in front of her. But, it also would not do to keep this a guarded secret from the one she was supposed to share it with most intimately. “This is something I am born to – that all Queens are. And our Power is different. We are the Center. This means that although each enclave has a leader, we are the ruler of them all,” Kida licked her lips and almost wanted him to interrupt with questions now, anything other than the staring. But he didn’t and she just continued, “It has a more direct connotation – I am the Center, I am connected to them all. The Power of all of my kind flows through me and I keep us all balanced. Stable.”

 

“It’s what I’ve been bred for after all,” her lips quirked a bit but he seemed not to notice, seemed utterly blown away by this new information on top of the revelation that “vampires” were real – or at least a sort were. And Kida did not think it right to just keep talking then for her own comfort, to fill the silence with one sided spiels on Atlantean governance or how most of their kind were turned (she was the only one _born_ after all). Instead she pulled the pillow to her again and picked white cat hair off of it with as much single minded concentration as she could muster.

 

It seemed a very long time before he spoke and his first question honestly startled her.

 

“You don’t have a choice then?”

 

She looked up sharply and met his gaze, and was caught off guard again, by the way her hear lurched when blue met brown. Kida swallowed hard, hands clenching around the pillow. “There is no other choice,” she whispered, her voice feeling hoarse. “I am the _only_ Queen, Milo Thatch. The only one able to hold the Power – as my Mother did before me. And her Mother did before her. It is not even a choice, that word does not fit - it will _burn_ any other who tries to touch it,” she shook her head breaking the eye contact as she remembers the old tales of the wars the early Queens fought. How those who tried to take the Power from her by force had burned from the inside out with a wild blue flame.

 

“You must understand I do not always favor this life I have been given – I often wish for more freedom. But to attempt to run from this would be to damn, not only my enclave but my entire _kind_ to ruin.”

 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Milo asks, his body jerking as if he has only just thought of this and realized how important it is.

 

Her smile turns sad then, because Kida had been wondering when it would occur to him how very freely she is letting information flow. “A Queen’s life is not destined to be a solitary existence. For each generation of Queen there is a Consort..,” and she sees his eyes widen yet again.

 

It was going to be a long night.

 


	8. Chapter 7: Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Disney owns Atlantis.

He wakes from an old dream mashed with new hope.

 

Reaching for his glasses with fumbling fingers in the dark, Milo finally grabs the frames and shoves them roughly on his face. Now able to see, he looks at the neon numbers on his clock and then flops back down onto his bed with a deep sigh. It is still much to late (or perhaps early) to even think of getting up.

 

But sleep is elusive, he sees her face in his mind.

 

_Kida_.

 

What she said, the world he had thought he knew so much about that she had gently but firmly crushed, then built up new again (made _real_ and invited _him_ into – that is the part that leaves him anxious that has him pulling his pillow from behind his head, hugging against his chest tightly and sighing agian. Because why would _she_ want _him_ ) seems so unreal.  He thinks about the way she had looked as she talked; that amazing white hair free of the purple scarf around her shoulders ad she sat barefoot with her legs curled up comfortably on his ratty old sofa, lips smiling and arms moving to emphasize her points.

 

And God, he can’t forget her eyes, her intense blue eyes – how they had even _glowed_ slightly when she had touched his plant, bringing life back into it’s wilted leaves with her energy. The whole thing was all like some bizarre dream….

 

The casual thought brings a jolt of fear through him like little else has power to do. Because Milo has dreamt of things like this before, has wished so very badly more times than he can count for the subject of his years of study to be real. Has fantasied about discovering the world of the supernatural, having a new life unfold before him – one where he would have a place, where he would _belong_.

 

( _Could he have just imagined it?_ )

 

Tripping in the covers in his haste to get out of bed, Milo nearly goes head first into the floor and barely catches himself. He simply scrabbles upright and towards the door though, needing to know for sure, needing to prove this all to himself somehow.

 

But looking over his living room area and kitchen in the dark gives him little help. Milo had eaten dinner ( _feeling a bit self-conscious in front of her after she declined his offer of food – but, then again, he felt that way anyway and he’d rather just ask questions and listen to her talk anyway. There was so much to ask after all and Kida was absolutely fascinating_ ) and washed up the dishes while she was still here. He had been so caught up in their conversation and not wanting Kida to actually _leave_ that he had kept making up little things to do until his yawning had given him away and she had been the one to smile at him gently and say goodnight.

 

Or _maybe_ none of theat had occured another part of his brain pokes at him with the unwanted thought. _Maybe_ he had simply come home alone – yet again – and read one of his books of vampire lore. Fell asleep with those familiar words running through his brain and dreamt the whole thing up – and the nature of dreams being what they are, it all twisted just a bit, just enough to make it feel real as it happened.

 

He bites his lip hard because he knows this would not be uncharacteristic behavior for him. After all, how many times in those months after his parents died, did he fall asleep, staring at the wall of a place that would never feel like home, wishing so hard for them to be alive again. Falling into dreams where scenarios built up easily into worlds where that was so – where they were all happy and together again, dreams that were so very vivid that they felt more real than the grey loneliness of his waking life. Somewhere that seemed harsh and scary in comparison - somewhere he had never really found a place, a sense of belonging, quite like the ease of family from when he was young.

 

Did he do it again? His years of wandering had formed into a knot of intense loneliness that had been weighing on him heavily lately. Had he made it all up? A beautiful woman who wanted him to join her, to be a part of her world - a community he had been fascinated by his whole life.

 

Milo wanders over to his window sill and stares down at the small, and now rather healthy looking, fern sitting innocently under the moonlight. Even that is easier to rationalize as his remembering to water it for once, than anything extraordinary having had happened.

 

Milo’s chest feels tight – _Kida_ , he tries to tell himself sternly. _Her name is Kida and she’s a vampire_ (although they don’t use that name anymore) _– and Queen of all her kind_. _I met her at the library and she sat right there on my couch and told me that I was her Consort, her bonded - but only if I wanted to be._

 

The more he thinks about it the weirder it sounds - the more utterly impossible. Milo feels the resolve he built up moments ago start to crumble around the edges.

 

But then a surge of inspiration sends him running back towards his bedroom again. Behind him, he hears a faint irritated, _mrow_ from the sofa shows that what his cat thinks of his late night movements but Milo doesn’t have time to pacify Fluffy right now.

 

Because, with shaking hands, from the pocket of the pants he wore earlier today he finds the proof. Written in a careful hand, not his own, is a phone and room number from a local hotel. Milo had blushed at the implications when she had written it down on the spare paper for him earlier (even though he had been the one to hesitantly ask for a way to get in touch with her – and Kida certainly hadn’t shown any embarrassment).

 

Now, looking down at the string of numbers on the lined sheet, his trousers still in his other hand, he waivers indecisively for a prolonged moment. But, he thinks of Kida again (hand on his arm, smiling up at him gently, eyes bright and faintly amused), and his resolve hardens. He is either truly going crazy or he will make a fool of himself.

 

Either way, Milo decides, he might as well go all in.

 

Putting the paper carefully back into the pocket again, he slides the pants on, finds some shoes, grabs his keys, and heads for the door.


	9. Chapter 8: Heavy and Necessary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis is owned by Disney.

The first thing Kida is aware of is Helga rolling out of the bed across the room from her and grabbing the gun that always sits innocently on the table between them as they sleep.

 

 

 

It is a sudden way to awaken - and she sits up, rubbing her eyes, to look at the clock and sees that it is only a few minutes after 3 AM. And although their kind require little sleep – and can go many days without if they pull in more energy – the two of them had fallen into a comfortable pattern of grabbing a few hours of rest every night between driving.

 

 

 

“Helga?” she asks questioningly, to the blonde figure now standing stock still in front of the door with a firearm held deceptively loose at her side.

 

 

 

There is a sharp hand gesture for silence, then a slight tilt of the head. It takes a moment for Kida to realize what the other woman is indicating but then she hears it too – footsteps moving back and forth, pacing outside their door.  Without turning to look, Helga points at her and then to the wall beside the door ( _it is one of their plans in place for hotel rooms, she can stay hidden there when the door swings open while Helga investigates and then help by attacking from behind if need be)_  and Kida moves instantly to get into place - only moments before the knock comes.

 

 

 

And then her bodyguard moves quickly – unlocking and swinging the door open roughly (Kida pushes herself further against the wall, her hands in front of her face, to avoid getting hit by it), her gun trained directly at whoever is interfering with their sleep.

 

 

 

There is a tense long silence and Kida fights against her urge to move, to tilt her head and attempt to peek around the hinges.

 

 

 

Then she hears Helga give an exasperated sigh, there is a sudden inhalation of air from another person, the sound of stumbling boots and jangling keys. Then the door to their room is closed again and she finds herself blinking in shock at a rather ruffled looking but very familiar figure.

 

 

 

“Milo,” she asks, “are you alright?”

 

 

 

He spins around so fast that he almost trips over his own feet. “ _Kida_ ,” he breathes, a sound of utter relief ( _it does something to her, makes something in her twist – she has never had someone look at her this way, as if she is what makes everything right in their world. Her people look up to her, love her even – she is their Queen, their Center. But it is a detached sort of love, the sort where she is a fixture of government, an expected everyday part of their lives and Power that will be replaced by a new face who will do the same things in a few hundred  years. They love her as they love the Earth, the air they breathe, their enclaves. Their love is a distant warm but often forgotten amongst the day to day. Looking at his face in that moment, she has a feeling that Milo’s would not be - could never be - distant, would never forget her, that their love could go beyond warm_ ), his face becoming relaxed. But a few moments later it shifts, he bites his lip, starts to become a bit sheepish.

 

 

 

“Are you alright?” she repeats stepping forward, reaching out to place a hand upon his arm.

 

 

 

“Yes, I’m fi-“ he cuts off abruptly his eyes going wide and a blush running swiftly across his face as his eyes seem to have taken her in for the first time. Dressed casually for bed, she has quite a bit of skin showing.

 

 

 

He spins around, to mind her propriety but just ends up seeing Helga who is still there holding a gun – and also wearing a simple tank top and panties. And there is nothing overtly sexual about either utilitarian cotton garment but the woman wearing them was very aware of how to hold her body to make anything seem erotic .

 

 

 

With a whimper, Milo was left looking at the rug as hard as he possibly could.

 

 

 

“You are just being mean,” Kida chided Helga with a sigh, but felt a smile fight to grow across her face.

 

 

 

“I’ll just be outside then,” Helga responded with teasing meaning heavy in her words, a quick smirk and a salute. She grabbed a pair of jeans from the open suit case near the closet and slid them on, one handed – keeping the gun with her on the way out. Kida supposed she’d stay right outside their door with it ( _she half wondered if Helga would even bother to keep it hidden or if she would simply stare down any curious person who walked by on the way past their room in the early morning_ ).

 

 

 

“Helga is gone, Milo,” she said once the door closed. “Sit down on the bed and we shall talk about why you came. And if it makes you feel more comfortable I shall find some trousers as well.”

 

 

 

Still refusing to look up he moved over to the closest bed and she just shook her head as she went to poke around the luggage. Kida actually didn’t have any trousers – she tended to wear dresses or the occasional skirt. Robes were traditional for Council and she had gotten so used to them that now anything about her legs felt restrictive. Finally she just grabbed a pair of the ones made of stretchy fabric Helga used to exercise in – she wouldn’t mind them being borrowed after all.

 

 

 

Once more clothes were on her person, she walked over and sat crosslegged next to Milo on the bed. He seemed startled by her sudden presence even thought she hadn’t been particularly quiet – as if he had been lost in thought. Kida didn’t say anything, just sat with him quietly in the dark and waited.

 

 

 

“I want it,” Milo blurted out abruptly, looking up and making eye contact. “I mean –,” he ran his hand through his hair and ducked his head a bit, smiling at her over the top of his glasses self-deprecatingly, “to be your Consort that is. I want too. A lot. _Please_.”

 

“Milo…,” was the only thing she could say, caught completely off guard by this. By his earnestness, by his willingness, by the way that smile made her want to just say, _Yes_.

 

 

So she looked down at the floral pattern of the hotel comforter, and swallowed hard. “Milo,” she said again, more firmly this time, “I said before I left your apartment that I wanted you to think about it. This is the rest of your life - and for longer than you would live any normal life. You only just met me. I don’t want you to be making a decision that you will regret later.” Kida continued to stare down, tracing the patterns with her eyes - anything not to look at him, to see that expression agian.

 

 

 

But then a hand reached out – she almost startled at first - it was an extremely hesitant move and Kida found herself holding her breath from the time skin made contact against hers, only letting it out harshly when their fingers were intertwined.

 

 

 

Milo gave no impassioned spiel, only gave her hand a slight squeeze and again said, “ _Please_.”

 

 

 

Kida closed her eyes slowly, feeling incredibly pained ( _incredibly old_ ), for there was still a part of being Queen and Consort she had yet to tell him – many parts truly (so very many it was hard for her to keep tracks – a lifetime, several lifetimes, of information that _she_ had only scratched the surface of), but when it came to this, he must know before he made this decision that would effect the rest of his existence.

 

 

 

“The problem,” she whispered looking at their linked hands “is what I ask of you.” As she tried to explain she quickly became frustrated at herself, “I say bonded. But it is so much more than you are thinking, than any bonding you are familiar. And that is my fault – I need to explain it better to you. I thought I would over the next few days but I shall now. At least in part,” Kida stopped again and attempted to gather her thoughts and she was greatful he gave her the time to do so.

 

 

 

“The words humans use in your ceremony - marriage vows, ” she reached both her hand blindly in the air as if they would come to her, only realizing belatedly that she had broken their connection and feeling loss at the fact.

 

 

 

“For richer or poorer,” Milo prompted gently, from his seat next to her on the bed, a slight smile on his face at her gesticulating, “until death do you part…”

 

 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” she pointed at him sharply, "it is that part where we diverge, where the bonding becomes something different than your ceremony. For what I am asking of you is your life, long after I have passed….”

 

 

 

“What?” she was not surprised by his confusion, but was oddly touched by his obvious distress at just the mention of her death – they had not known each other very long after all, despite the obvious pull of the bond _(and the deeper connection she hoped was there that they could build into something more_ ).

 

 

 

“We would have a child,” she whispered, Kida ignored the way this made him color and continued as if she hadn’t noticed at all, “and when our daughter reached her maturity, the Power would break down within my body - and pass into her,” she could see, so clearly – even now – the way her Mother’s eyes had glowed before her body had become still.

 

 

 

“And it is for then that you would be most needed,” she reached out and grasped his hand again tightly, looked past the glint of glasses, into those brown eyes and tried to make Milo understand this that meant so very much to her. “It is not for myself that I worry, not for the years we would have together – I do not fear for my own happiness with you, Milo Thatch. My own life. Even for our famiy - I would happily raise my daughter with you,” the hand within hers’ squeezed gently at this; and, almost automatically, Kida raised her other arm and, with infinite gentleness, brushed aside some of the fringe of dark blonde hair that seemed perpetually falling in his face.

 

 

 

Milo was smiling, ever so slightly, and his eyes closed at her touch, it almost made it easier for her to say the rest. _Almost_. With a deep breath, she simply stated bluntly, “But I will never see her grown,” Those eyes flew open again and held hers, and she decided that she could hold his gaze. That – yes, she, that _they_ , could do this.

 

 

 

Kida kept her arm aloft, her hand cupping his face, she stroked the skin of Milo’s temple with her thumb steadily as she explained this new truth to him close in the dark. “I will birth her but never meet the young woman she becomes. Never be able to support her when she ascends to Queen, as she learns to navigates the press of Power, the people, and the Council without losing herself,” she murmurs sadly.

 

 

 

“That is what I would need you most for, Milo Thatch, what I am truly asking – beyond anything else – when I ask for your bond. I ask for you to become mine – _yes_ , but only secondarily. First and foremost you must be _hers_.”

 

 

 

Her words hang in the air about them for a moment, heavy and necessary but somehow not cumbersome as they sank in - and truly, it is not a long wait until Milo responds.

 

 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, pulling her to him in a sudden hug. “ _Yes_ ,” he says again, his head burrowed into her neck. “I know you worry, Kida. I know you think that you are asking too much of me….,” and he laughs then, an odd sound and she feels him shake his head – his hair ruffling her skin. Sitting back up, but still holding her loosely, he looks down at her, eyes clear and earnest. “..but I don’t think you know what you’re offering. How much I’ve wanted this - a family all my own, a place where I will always belong. And a kid,” he looks down at her stomach as if she was pregnant right at that moment. It makes her laugh – he notices the direction of his gaze and laughs too.

 

 

 

“I’ve always wanted kids,” he confesses. “And I’d be honored to care for our kid after you - _pass_ ,” he has a lot of trouble with the word. “I- I lost both my parents at one time,” Kida could see how he struggled to say these things and she held him tighter, “-and I wouldn’t want that for someone else if I could help it - for my own kid, I'd want to help them. I don’t know how good I’d be….,” he starts to babble.

 

 

 

She reaches out and places a finger upon his lips, silencing him. “We shall figure it out together. And worry about it when the time comes – and that time is still far away,” she chides in a gentle tone, and she notices the way his eyes light up at the ‘ _we_ ’. And Kida silently thanks the goddesses because the more time she spends with Milo Thatch the easier it is to think this shall work out well, that hers will be a diary that a future Queen will read of a happy life.

 

 

 

Hope filling her, the silencing finger leaves his lips and she leans in in close until her forehead is nearly touching his. Kida sees his eyes dart down to her mouth hopefully and it is with a smile spreading across her face that she kisses him for the first time.

 

 


	10. Chapter 9: Awaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Atlantis is owned by Disney.  
> A/N: Just a bit of warning - I play with history a bit in this (it is an Atlantis-Vampire mash up after all *grin*). I do not claim to be an expert in anything - and will probably be making mistakes - but please be aware I am making some changes _on purpose_.

Kida wakes the second time that morning quite a bit later. This time it is all together less jarring and more pleasant, so she takes her time, consciously not opening her eyes; savoring this peace.  She is warm and content – Kida can tell that the curtains are open because there is a steady stream of sunlight at her back and her body is pulling in its energy, slow and comforting, like a cup of tea on a chill morning.

 

Safe, happy, free, content. Kida smiles and sighs, still half asleep and curls her body tighter around the one she has become so thoroughly intertwined in the night, her hand unconsciously kneading – catlike – at the unfamiliar fabric it is lying upon.

 

And it is this curiosity that finally prompts her to make the final push towards wakefulness. And when she blinks her eyes open and sees whose shirt her hand is tangled in (who her whole body is tangled with) Kida doesn’t startle or try to jerk away, her smile settles more firmly, becomes a thoroughly conscious thing, as she looks at Milo.

 

They shared a few kisses last night but that was all – it had been a bit difficult to urge him to lie down on her bed full clothed (only getting rid of his boots) even though he was so obviously thoroughly exhausted and not fit to drive back to his apartment. For although Milo wished to share a life with her, knew that meant that they were to be bonded, that someday they were to have a child, it was intensely obvious to her how very awkward he was about the physical aspects of a relationship. How he was both young and rather old fashioned. Oddly respectful of her modesty even when she was not, had never learned shame of her body in the ways these humans seemed to have ingrained. But truly, Kida had no real problem with any of these quirks – they had known each other for such a short period yet - there was plenty of time for them to learn each other’s’ ways, to learn the others bodies.

 

And although she treasured the kisses it was the touching that felt the most intimate to her – when his hand had first reached out for hers _(looking down at their intertwined fingers: hers such familiar things - delicate, feminine, yet strong and his so very different – square knuckles with a jagged knick of a scar between two that she wished for the story behind, long fingers, with rough worn pads. Scholars hands, she had known instantly_ ) the way his eyes had closed when she had touched his face _(so very trusting, giving himself over to her completely – there is such innocence in him and Kida isn’t sure what to do with it honestly. Part of her, wishes desperately to protect him, but she knows that is folly because just by meeting him, by letting him know who she is, what she is – and who he is to her – she is damning him to emotional pain in the future_ ) Milo’s impromptu hug after she had explained part of the heartbreak of being Queen – and in turn Consort as they had sat next to each other, so close in the dark _(his head buried in her neck - the warm feeling of his breath against the sensitive skin their when he had spoken, the tickling brush of the fringe of his bangs_ ).

 

Then there is now - waking up with her head on the pillow next to his, in each others' arms. Kida just watches Milo’s unconscious face intently, slack with sleep and somehow looking impossibly more innocent without his glasses.  And this – this moment of sun-drenched peace feels the most intimate of all.

 

Because Kida had her Mother for thirteen years and her father for now about nearly three hundred – and as she grew she had not been without passion. But over the years, it almost became more trouble than it was worth to find a lover that could be discreet, to find someone that looked at her as a woman and not a being in power and _of Power_ , whose eyes would fill with a sort of reverence that made her skin crawl when all she really wanted was companionship and a bit of touch.

 

_Touch_.

 

It was so important to her – and in the position she was in, Kida was seen as unapproachable by almost all and it was difficult to reach out. Atlantis had become a cold world to live in, surrounded by stone and those who looked at her with such _distant_ devotion.  Nearly the only chance she got to touch beings, other than her Father, was when she healed or changed her People.

 

She had spent so many nights cuddling her pillow and reading the diaries of past Queens for comfort. They were family of course – but they felt like friends as well.

 

As she memorized this moment, Kida’s mind goes back to her Grandmother (she didn't often read of her Mother - it was hard. She felt much too close to that story, awkward over the parts involving her Father and her). Neada had been a strict harsh woman, unsure if she ever wanted a mate – if such a thing was necessary. And reading how she had ruled the Council with an effortless confidence, for decades longer than most Queens before she began to feel the urge to search for her Consort, obviously the Powers had agreed with her.

 

The continent in which the Atlantis enclave was situated had been very different back then – and Neada who had lived for a good chunk of the 12th through 16th centuries had seen a great deal of change in America.  And when Neada had found her Consort along the coast, it was someone used to change as well. Who had traveled from his familiar home across unknown waters to a dangerous new land.

 

An explorer – well, in a way. The cook for an encampment that had tried to colonize and was now simply hunkered down and trying to survive, who would improvise with whatever he had to try to keep everyone alive. And Neada might be seen as cold, but she was truly far from it – she brought not only her Bonded, but all of these people back with her to Atlantis – and most were still there, had never left for other enclaves.

 

The histories of the humans called them the “Lost Colony” and the explanation for their disappearance were, to Kida, almost as ridiculous as the books on “vampires”.

 

But what truly made her smile each time she had read it ( _what made her warm now with her own happiness and not just the borrowed sort as she lay with her bonded_ ) was that although it was a decidedly odd paring, it had worked. It had taken a while – Neada’s baring was always quite severe in public and _he_ never lost his rough, rustic, edges ( _according to the diary, he never tried to – and she had found it in turns frustrating and endearing)_.

 

And although they had both known it meant her end, what had truly brought them together was her pregnancy. Neada had taken such joy in having cravings for things ( _as a growing children they ate things – tasted them, but once full grown, once Queens and ingesting Power through energy, taste just fell away_ ) and her Bonded had equal delight in fulfilling them (perhaps more so – the diary had admitted, the neat hand confessing feeling guilty of perhaps being too far into her work these past years, vowing never to ignore the wonderful man again – to be as committed to her family as to her enclave). He would whip up random concoctions that would make anyone else flinch at there smell or oddity, at any hour, his twang such a comforting thing to her.

 

Their love such a comfortable thing.

 

_Cookie_ was all her Grandfather had been called in the diaries ( _what Kida' Mother had referred to him as too - interchangeably with Da of course_ ) – an affectionate nickname that seemed to fit so well the image in her mind. It made her wonder what she would write of Milo, what her daughter would. 

 

The soft sound of a rapping against a table startles her – it is an intentional double tap like knocking on the door – and when she turns her head towards the unexpected noise Kida has to squint against the sun to see. And it is Helga sitting, fully dressed and using a knife (with which she had tapped lightly against the faux-wood) to absentmindedly clean dirt from already spotless nails, at the small table their hotel room was outfitted with, silhouetted by the almost mid-day sun.

 

And it is much less surprising than it should be ( _Kida remembers the feeling of safety she has had_ ), much less embarrassing for she has been caught staring at someone sleeping for quite a while now ( _after all, Helga has probably been acting as look out for much longer_ ). So, Kida only gives a nod of acknowledgement and a flicker of – not surprise, but almost approval crosses Helga’s face – before she nods back. And Kida only feels mildly silly for the boost of confidence that gives her – she has come to peace with the fact that although she is Queen, she see Helga as an older sister of whom she wishes approval ( _now she just has to figure out a way to tell Helga this_ ).

 

“You’re being careful,” the blonde woman asks, her tone low, and it is both a statement and a question- her blue eyes are steady but not demanding, if Kida wanted to she didn’t have to even say anything, just take these words as advice. But there is something about her even bothering to say anything – in her neutral, guarded, way of course - that makes Kida wish to give further.

 

“I am,” she whispers, careful not to wake the man so close. “It is hard though,” Kida admits daring to look down at Milo’s sleeping face again. “He is very open with me and I wish to equal it. But I do not know if I am able to,” she says, worry making her even quieter – not even sure Helga can hear now, “I am much older than him but not in this - I have never been in love,” Kida glances back up and those eyes are still intent on her and the knife is still in her hands.

 

“It is not a hard thing – falling in love,” Helga’s voice is soft - so much so that Kida has to strain to hear it, but oh – it is worth it to receive words, such as these, from her. Those eyes go to the blade in her hands and, almost absentmindedly, she twists it so light bounces off the edges for a moment. “It is keeping it that becomes difficult, a balancing act,” her face is tight as she watches the light dance. Another twist of her arm and the knife suddenly disappears somewhere on her person, and then Helga is back to being calm and the softness leaves her voice, as if it had never been there. “And when it is lost, figuring out what to do. Well, I’m not exactly your poster girl for that,” she raises a wry eyebrow and the look in the eyes is as steady as always but Kida knows not to ask, not to push even though her curiosity is burning. 

 

( _Her curiosity isn't worth this friendship - and she knows pushing might break whatever she tentatively has with Helga. All she has to do is remember the reports of the sole survivor of her enclave, betrayed by the person who was supposed to be her most trusted._ )

 

Instead she asks, “But the falling?” And even Kida can hear how young she sounds – a child wanting to be soothed. But there is no Mother for her to ask these questions to. And while the diaries are helpful, they don’t talk back.

 

Helga certainly picks up on, at least part of what she is feeling, and there is none of the teasing (or exasperated sighing) she expects. There is an odd relaxing to her – softening she would say about anyone else, but Helga is still Helga and very armed so the word doesn't quite fit.

 

“It isn’t hard,” she repeats but there is understanding in her tone, an indulgent smile on those red lips.

 

And again Kida finds herself nodding, a boost of confidence and feeling of peace and safety filling her as she turns back to Milo who has started to move a bit as he leaves the world of sleep as well. 

 

 

They will awaken, get up, and meet the day - and Kida is ready.


End file.
